Dinurr the Bard
by Ala Cye
Summary: Some random rhymesters and tongue twisters I put in a pretty pointless one-shot story. I know I'm scarring ugly black marks on the beautifulness of Brian Jacques awesomeness books...Please review, even if it is just to say that I suck really really bad...


The old mole slowly made his way up the path to the great oaken doors framed by bricks upon strong bricks of red sandstone which glowed in the evening light. He knocked quite loudly, as he heard feasting and loud singing, which apparently drowned out his knocking. Attempting to attract their attention, he broke out singing some rhymesters, oddly enough, without the mole accent.

"I cough up steam, I sneeze out smoke,

Because I do not like soaked coke!

Because one day a soaked coke spoke to me,

It said, 'I am a poked soaked cloaked coke!' "

Apparently a naughty mole Dibbun had climbed up onto the ramparts of the Abbey and shouted at the singing mole. "Granfer, wha' be's a coker?"

Shouting back the old mole said surprisingly lively for his age, "Hoi, hurr, h'a coker be's a humanoid drinkers! Oi, can ye get a abbeybeast ter open this yurr door? Oi'm fair a freezin' moi dearie!" Continuing to sing out loud, he mentally cheered as he heard the swift patters of little paws down the wallsteps.

"I like pie, but I do not like to die,

Because pie is made out of rye,

And rye can fly,

And flying rye is good for your eye."

As a reply to his little rhyme, a sack came flying towards him, neatly landing in his large digging claws, full of flowers, looking somewhat like rye. Looking up, the old mole saw another Dibbun, this time a mouse, standing, grinning like he had accomplished a mighty task, of 'paying' the traveler. Smiling, the traveler continued singing as the little babe yelled to him in Dibbun dialect.

"'ey mis'ta moley! Sing h'a one abou' spwing!"

"They say I have to flay the clay in May at the bay,

Or else I will have to pay for the clay in May at the bay,

Or so they say."

By this time, the old traveler had been able to detect the slightest sounds of a slightly confused elder walking beside an excited young one. He could feel his hopes rising as he broke out louder into another rhymester.

"Eeeeh! There's a flea on my sea key,

The sea key which belongs to me,

The flea just peed a flea pee,

A flea pee, ugh, the flea will need to flee,

For when I throw the sea pea to avenge the sea key which belongs to me!"

"'ello there, mate! Hahaha, I'm so glad ye finally came back, ol' Dinurr! Hahahaha, oh my, sing me h'another one or I won't open the door fer ya!" A jolly otter appeared, yelling joyfully at the old mole. Dinurr grinned as he again began singing in a remarkable pitched voice.

"On the brink of the sink,

I see a sink sinking in another sink,

Sinking in a sea of another sink,

Sinking, sinking, so many sinks,

Sinks are sinking in so many sinks,

The sinking sinks blow out the chinks,

The sinking sinks scare out the minks from their chinks,

The sinking sinks scare out the pink minks from their sinking chinks!"

The great oaken gates creaked open as the otter burst out and hugged the mole, laughing as he did so.

"Hahahaha, good ole Din, we've been waiting for ye fer such a long day, eh, mate? We're 'avin' the midsumm'r feas', betcher could eat some fer at least now, ye grumpy faced ol' mole!" The otter patted his back heartily, watching the old beast break into a mighty smile, as he imitated the otter's voice.

"Oy, matey, I kin smell sumthin' cookin' there, mate, c'mon, lead me ta the vittles!" Then, changing his accent the mole spoke again. "Bally top-hole vittles 'ere at the abbey, wot! I feel as 'ungry as a jolly ole hare, wot wot!" Again, amongst the jollity, he bellowed in a deep voice, imitating his original accent. "Hoi, moi matey, where be yoo? Ho urr, Oi kin smell sumthin' cookin'!"

As the old mole friar, dubbed "Vittlechap" by his most popular admirer, the hare who had dubbed himself "Fodder," came out roaring back at his brother. "Hoi, ol' Din ther Bard, where's yoo been? Oi've been cookin' in moi kitchen, an' Oi do berleeve Oi 'ave some hunney an' scones ter give, moi deer ol' brutther!"

Almost moved to tears by the simplicity of scones, the mole bard broke out into song again.

"My brother is a cook, a cook cookie cook,

He cooks to suit his looks, his looks lookie looks,

I do dearly love him, love him himmie him,

'cause I do hear his food sim, sim simmie sim!"

Laughing and yelling, the brothers hugged enthusiastically at the abbey door amidst the feast. The end.

I had to do this oneshot. This is how bored I can get on some days. Later on I might use Dinurr the Bard in one of my stories…so just look in my other fanfics…please?


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